Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Mint 3 Musketeers

As a kid the candy bar selection in the suburbs of Montreal was terrible. We had Mars, Snickers, Caramilk, Crunchie, and occasionally Butterfingers caked completely in dust. As a nerdy kid with no friends and overbearing parents, candy was the only way I knew how to enjoy my shitty little life.

As one would correctly assume, the selection available to me made it quite difficult to not constantly want to fucking hang myself with my shoestrings after my folks went to bed. That's one of the main reasons I would look forward to spending summers with my Nanny in Vermont (that and in all seriousness she was the absolute greatest person I have ever known). I would stuff my dirty little face with 100 Grands, Baby Ruths, Whatchamacallits, and basically anything I could get my hands on that I didn't have at home. Thankfully, my old man, removed from the pressures of running a college for a few months, was relaxed and would happily open his wallet up and let me go fucking nuts.

I had a pretty steady rotation of snacks but 3 Musketeers bars where never a part of it. That was of course until I saw that 3 Musketeers movie during the summer of '93.

Keiffer Sutherland and Charlie Sheen, fuck I was stoked. For the rest of that summer that's all I ate. I would swashbuckle the fuck out of whatever I wanted. I was a bad motherfucker with a giant hat and a puffy shirt. I was fucking awesome. Eventually I discovered tits and I decided I would take up cockbuckling instead, so my love for 3 Musketeers (the Lifestyle and the Chocolate Bar) fell by the wayside. But every once in a while I would purchase a 3 Musketeers bar and relive the past.

It's like slipping the dick to an ex-girlfriend.

This one time at New Years' when I still got high (I am now a Straight Edge Warrior) I called up an ex-girlfriend. I was slurring my speech (I had been drinking as well: I used to RAGE) and she didn't recognize my voice. I flipped my shit completely. I just lost my fucking mind. I started accusing her of cheating on me (which was completely unfounded) and saying that when she got her hair done that one time it was like a wet poodle got a fucking perm (at the time I thought this was the fucking insult to end them all; in hindsight it's fucking ridiculous) and just being a fucking prick all around. She started getting upset and her mom picked up the phone and then I flipped my shit even more. I started telling her she had fucking warts on her junk, that her bush smelled like someone lit a trash heap on fire, once again, just being wholly miserable. The argument kept getting dialed up and I lost it and threw the phone through my friend's window, smashing it (obviously) in the process. We went outside and made snow angels afterward.

Today at work I bought this fucking skinny mint-flavoured 3 Musketeers bar. I wanted to call it up in the hopes it would forget who I was so I could smash it's stupid fucking face in with my giant heel.

Mint. Fucking Mint. Mint in combination with anything can suck my hairy ass. It's such bullshit. I don't even know what fuck is wrong with me that I would buy this piece of shit.

Imagine you have a baby, a newborn son and you and your wife are staring into its cute little eyeballs and then your little guy belches and poisonous snakes pour out of him and bite your wife in the face. The snakes spit venom in the nurses mouths and their necks melt as the poison works its way down their throats.

Their heads, too heavy to be supported by rotting flesh, snap off and fall to the floor, splashing up venom, phlegm, and a thick blood paste in the process. You vomit harder than you ever have in your life. Blood pours out of your throat and nose. You heave so hard you feel like your innards are crushing themselves, grinding your organs to powder.

In an effort to stop the continuous onslaught of snakes, you grab your infant son and smash him against a metal rod soldered onto the sides of the hospital gurney. Your head spins. Your temples throb. You black out. You awaken to the sound of your wife screaming. Everything comes back into focus. You see your wife screaming. You see nurses and hospital security start to surround you.

The room is pristine.
No snakes.
No venom.
No chaos.
No carnage.

At gun point you are asked to put your hands over your head. Despite being incredibly groggy and equally confused you attempt to comply but as you reach for the sky your right arm feels heavier than your left. You glance down and your heart sinks. You're holding your son's lifeless, mangled corpse. Your wife screams for the guards to "fucking shoot his dick off". They miss. You get it in the face. Game Over.

This snack disappointing. Imagine you took a chocolate tube and filled it with toothpaste and then ate it. Yup, it sucks.


No comments: